


Piano Man (Reader's POV)

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9255644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The reader finds Dean alone in the hotel bar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote two versions of this, one in the reader's point of view, one in Dean's point of view. Inspiration came from the piano scene in Pretty Woman.

 

You found him in the nearly deserted bar, sitting at the piano, tapping at the keys with his index finger, not really playing anything, just some nameless tune. The lights were turned down low and the only other person in the bar was the bartender, standing behind the oak top, wiping down glasses.

You pulled the huge white robe tight around your body, a poor attempt at covering the black, silk lingerie you were wearing beneath the fluff of cotton; that sight was meant for Dean and Dean only. It certainly wasn’t because you were cold; it was warm in the bar, the air conditioning turned off for the night, no need to keep the patrons comfortable in the bar when it was shut down for the night.

You threw a glance the bartender’s direction as you weaved through the tables toward Dean and the piano. You stopped a couple of feet behind him.

“I didn’t know you played,” you said, just loud enough for him to hear you.

Dean’s hands fell to his lap as he turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was still wearing the dress shirt and tie he’d worn to interview the witnesses. There was an empty glass on the edge of the piano.

“I don’t,” he shrugged.

You watched him as you closed the distance between the two of you, the dark circles under his eyes, evidence of many sleepless nights, the way his brow was furrowed, how the smile that flitted across his face didn’t reach his eyes. You rested your arms on the piano top.

“I was waiting for you,” you told him.

He didn’t respond to you, just turned and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Wally,” he called, “could you give us the room?”

The bartender nodded, set the glass he’d been cleaning on the counter, and disappeared through a door behind the bar.

Dean waited until the door closed, then he reached over, put his hands on your hips and pulled you in front of him, your backside brushing several of the keys as you slid across the piano, the hollow sound of the notes echoing through the room. He dragged in a deep breath, ran his hands up your sides, his touch careful, gentle, his emerald green eyes flicking up to meet yours before he leaned over and rested his forehead on your stomach, squeezing your hips in his huge hands.

You put your hand on the back of his head, the tips of your fingers brushing over the short hairs on the back of his neck. He sighed and looked up at you, his fingers tangling in the ties of the robe, loosening it and pushing it open, exposing the short, black, silk lingerie. He ran his hands over the material for just a second, then he rose to his feet, ducked his head, and caught your lips in his, kissing you with a deep hunger.

A shiver of desire raced through you, goosebumps raising on your skin, warring with the heat coming from the man who now had you trapped in the circle of his arms, kissing you breathless. You moaned a little in the back of your throat when he pulled away, but it died away when he scooped you up and set you on the piano. The robe fell off your shoulders, pooling around your waist. 

Dean cupped your cheek, pushed your hair off your face, and kissed you again, his hands sliding down your sides to your ass, pulling you towards him as he pushed open your knees with his elbows and stepped between your legs. He pulled the hem of the lingerie up, his hands on your ass, moaning when he touched your bare skin, his lips sliding over your jaw and down your neck.

You leaned back, balancing on your arms, Dean’s hands caressing and touching you everywhere, tracing your spine, drifting across your breasts, and down your stomach. His hands locked around your waist, lifting you, sliding the silky material up your body and over your hips, bunching it at your waist.

The first touch of his lips to your skin made you gasp, the feel of his breath blowing across your heated core made your body ache for more, the way he held you, possessed you, made every nerve tingle with need. You planted your feet on the piano keys, a mish mash of sounds filling the air as your knees fell open and Dean’s tongue slid through your already slick folds, a low hum rumbling through him.

He pushed forward, his tongue sliding deeper into you, his mouth closing over you, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you closer. You scrambled for purchase on the piano top, finally grabbing the robe beneath you, clutching the soft material so tight your knuckles ached. 

Dean was ravenousness, insatiable, eating you out like a starving man, his head moving from side to side, his tongue buried deep in your pussy, his nose pressed to your clit, small grunts of satisfaction coming from him as he devoured you.

God, the things this man could do to you, the way he could make you feel, it was indescribable, unbelievable. You lost track of how many times you’d orgasmed, one rolling into the other until it seemed like you were having one long, unending climax. You turned your head and pressed your arm against your mouth, desperate to hold back the filthy screams of decadent pleasure building in your throat.

You couldn’t move after he released you, you were completely spent, satisfied like you never had been before. Dean lifted you, his arm sliding around your back, pulling you off the piano, your feet skimming the keys, sharp notes ringing in your ears. He carried you as if you weighed nothing, the thick muscles of his thighs flexing as he walked, his biceps hard and tight beneath the tight white dress shirt. He set you on the edge of a small stage at the back of the bar, yanked open his dress pants and pulled himself free, pulled your legs around his waist and entered you, both of you moaning as he seated himself inside of you.

He braced his hand on the edge of the stage, his hips moving in slow, tight circles, his mouth on yours, licking at your lips, demanding entrance. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on, letting the sensations and the emotions take you, pure, unadulterated, intense pleasure winding its way through your veins, consuming you, overwhelming you.

Dean growled as he came, the sound rumbling through his chest, his hand tightening on your hip as his stuttered out of control. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling you, holding you close, his breath tearing in and out of him, his own orgasm rushing through him.

He released you, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and pulled down the edge of the black nightgown, covering you, then he grabbed the robe from the piano. He tucked himself back into his pants as he walked back to you, then he helped you off the edge of the stage and wrapped the robe around you. He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and with a gentle tug, led you from the bar.

 


End file.
